


hands, holding other hands

by aphrodite_mine



Category: Community (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/F, F/M, Inspector Spacetime - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-28
Updated: 2013-03-28
Packaged: 2017-12-06 18:52:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/738977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aphrodite_mine/pseuds/aphrodite_mine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's like, this unspoken rule. For therapists. Or, excuse me, therapists-to-be. The rule is this: Don't lie to yourself. Especially not about the big stuff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	hands, holding other hands

**Author's Note:**

> Written for sibiu, who prompted Britta/Annie, transferring.

Admittedly, the season with Minerva The Lady Inspector turns out to be pretty terrible all around. It's like, Britta notes, all of the writers just _gave up_ trying to be clever or original just because there was a woman on screen. Troy pleads ignorance.

Terrible season or not, Britta can't seem to stop dreaming about her -- a slightly goofy brunette, eying the camera, offering up a wink. She wakes up, again and again, next to Troy but tangled in the sheets rather than his arms, her heart thudding. The twist of lips sticks in her mind, a terrible British accent wondering if she'd like to go on an incredible journey. Minerva extends a hand, and Britta wakes up, knowing she'll take it.

-

There's like, this unspoken rule. For therapists. Or, excuse me, therapists-to-be. The rule is this: Don't lie to yourself. Especially not about the big stuff.

(Britta's pretty sure the little stuff is okay, like the time when she actually convinces herself that chest hair is sexy, or when she pays an extra dollar for the salad bar instead of patronizing Shirley's Sandwiches and is pretty sure that she'll earn the woman's respect for treating her body well.)

-

A timid knock, and then Annie's head peers into Troy's bedroom. "Everybody decent?" she asks, even as she makes eye contact with Britta. The question is a courtesy, almost a game. "I made pancakes," Annie announces, pinking around the edges, "and you should probably get up now if you want to choose from more than Abed's rejects."

"I admit, I am not fond of the crispy ones!" Abed calls from the kitchen.

Britta thinks it's nice, to feel so safe. She stretches, turns to look at Troy (and duck away from Annie's smile) but of course, he has already launched from the bed (thankfully) in boxer shorts and crows, giddily, about sticky syrup on his fingers.

"They're just Bisquick," Annie says, quieter, in a voice that's meant just for Britta. "I hope that's okay."

"If you think I'd say no to pancakes, you don't know me very well." Britta shifts under the covers, making movements that she hopes Annie doesn't equate to putting on pants because that would mean they'd just had a conversation while at least one party was partially nude. And nudity is totally natural, but probably not when you're--

Britta's brain stops. Annie is holding out her hand, smiling, her fingers crooked slightly toward herself, toward the kitchen. "Well, c'mon, then. Or we'll have to fight the boys."

"Coming!" Britta huffs, grabbing Annie's hand and meeting her eyes. _An incredible journey?_ she thinks. _Sounds rad!_


End file.
